and drawn blood from the sacred veins of
the man-god. But he almost hesitated now whether or not he should confide
in Ula. A god may surely trust his own wedded wives. And yet--such need
to be careful--women are so treacherous! He suspected Ula sometimes of
being a great deal too fond of that young man Toko, who used to be one of
the temple attendants, and whom he had given as Shadow accordingly to the
King of the Rain, so as to get rid of him altogether from among the crowd
of his followers. So he kept his own counsel for the moment, and
disguised his misfortune. "I have been to see the King of the Birds this
morning," he said, in a grumbling voice; "and I do not like him. That
God is too insolent. For my part I hate these strangers, one and all.
They have no respect for Tu-Kila-Kila like the men of Boupari. They are
as bad as atheists. They fear not the gods, and the customs of our
fathers are not in them."

Ula crept nearer, with one lithe round arm laid caressingly close to her
master's neck. "Then why do you make them Korong?" she asked, with
feminine curiosity, like some wife who seeks to worm out of her husband
the secret of freemasonry. "Why do you not cook them and eat them at
once, as soon as they arrive? They are very good food--so white and fine.
That last new-comer, now--the Queen of the Clouds--why not eat her? She
is plump and tender."

"I like her," Tu-Kila-Kila responded, in a gloating tone. "I like her
every way. I would have brought her here to my temple and admitted her at
once to be one of Tu-Kila-Kila's wives--only that Fire and Water would
not have permitted me. They have too many taboos, those awkward gods. I
do not love them. But I make my strangers Korong for a very wise reason.
You women are fools; you understand nothing; you do not know the
mysteries. These things are a great deal too high and too deep for you.
You could not comprehend them. But men know well why. They are wise; they
have been initiated. Much more, then, do I, who am the very high god--who
eat human flesh and drink blood like water--who cause the sun to shine
and the fruits to grow--without whom the day in heaven would fade and die
out, and the foundations of the earth would be shaken like a plantain
leaf."

Ula laid her soft brown hand soothingly on the great god's arm just above
the elbow. "Tell me," she said, leaning forward toward him, and looking
deep into his eyes with those great speaking gray orbs of hers; "tell
me